I Would Write Of The Universal, Not

So Long As One Is Able To Pose One Has Still Much To Learn About Suffering.

Doesn't All Experience Crumble In The End To Mere Literary Material?

... The Novel, As A Living Force, If Not As A Work Of Art, Owes An Incalculable Debt To What We Call, Mistakenly, The New Psychology, To Freud, In His Earlier Interpretations, And More Truly, I Think, To Jung.

I Had No Place In Any Coterie, Or In Any Reciprocal Self-advertising. I Stood Alone. I Stood Outside. I Wanted Only To Learn. I Wanted Only To Write Better.

Cruelty Is The Only Sin.